


History Has It's Eyes on You

by mayanpaw



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, 19th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: (Or saddest if that's your cup of tea), A ghost?, Ended up here instead of the afterlife?, F/M, Gen, Gift Fic, I don't know, I seriously did WAY to much research for this fic, I tried to make myself sad, Is Hamilton a time traveler?, Modern Era, Pick whichever one makes you happiest, Time Travel, but yay historical accuracy?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 11:26:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8054488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayanpaw/pseuds/mayanpaw
Summary: Prompt: Can someone please write time traveling Alexander Hamilton trying to go home and not understanding where his house is? Because he’s standing where it should be and it’s not there anymore, and he’s heart broken because he thinks they tore it down, and then someone has to explain it’s been moved?





	History Has It's Eyes on You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wind_Ryder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wind_Ryder/gifts).



It should’ve been there. Between the terrifyingly large brick buildings and the bodegas covered in strange illegible writing, it should’ve been there.  
His home.  
  
_The Grange. ___  
  
Alexander was not a stupid man, despite what Adams and Jefferson would want people to believe. He knew that things would change, had counted on it in fact for his investments. Time was relentless and life would not stay constant. But still.  
  
He couldn’t have imagined _this ___.  
  
Gone were the beautiful orchards, the gardens he had spent hours planning. Gone were the fields of cattle and the picturesque ponds that his children had swam in. Gone were the very hills and rolling valleys that had drawn him and Eliza to buy the first home that had been unequivocally and unquestioningly theirs.  
  
_This is childish, ___he admonished to himself as his feet carried him down another unrecognizable block. _If the Presidential Mansion had not been saved from the ravages of time, why would a mere secretary’s house be saved? ___He had spent hours looking for Washington’s familiar brick building, wandering through an alien canyon of impossible glass buildings that seemed to reach into the heavens themselves and reflect the blue sky off of them like mirrors. The only thing that he had recognized was the now dwarfed Trinity Church, it’s once comforting visage at odds with the strange urge of _dontlookdontlookdontlook ___that kept him from entering the cemetery every time he circled the block.  
  
Lost and feeling completely alone, he had given up on his quest to find the Presidential Mansion and let his thoughts flicker longingly to home. It was a useless habit that he had tried to break himself of as a boy, but for once he let the desire for home give him a goal. Resolve strengthened, he had promised himself that he would not rest until he had found the Grange. What had ensued was the terrifying realization that the Kingsbridge Road no longer existed, a torturous two hour walk to a frankly bright and overwhelming square, the difficult decision to attempt to use the “Subway” that he had seen so many people descend into, a tense moment where he had somehow managed to sneak onto the Subway after realizing that it cost an outrageous amount of money that he did not have, and a very uncomfortable and awkward thirty minute ride up the so-called “Number 1” where numerous people stared or outright laughed at him and his clothing. He had practically fled when he had reached 145th street – a number that he had assumed had taken him far enough up the island.  
  
What had met him when he once again ascending from the Subway had left him in dismay. Gone was everything that he could recognize and loved about Harlem Heights – the quiet, rural beauty – and instead it had been replaced with a dirty, rundown city that practically screamed to him “you are not welcome.” He had wanted to believe that he was in the wrong area, but to his west he could see the same view of the North River and even more compelling he had this strange knowledge, deep down in his bones that _this is it. ___  
  
_Still, ___he had thought desperately, _it could still be here. Like Trinity Church, it could still be here. ___So he had wandered around for blocks, past the painfully named Hamilton Grange Library, past Hamilton Place ( _a street name that he wasn’t even going to THINK about ___), until he reached a dead end at the corner of 143rd and Covent Ave where he could finally go no further.  
  
It should’ve been there. Between the terrifyingly large brick buildings and the bodegas covered in strange illegible writing, it should’ve been there.  
His home.  
  
_The Grange. ___  
  
The feeling in his chest that had been telling him that home was just around the corner quieted and Alexander dazedly made his way over to a bench and collapsed. There was no mistaking it any more. The Grange was gone. Gone like Kingsbridge Road, gone like the Presidential Mansion – the one home that had ever been his – _gone. ___  
  
His head dropped into his hands, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. He could still see it so clearly in his head. William running through the gardens that he had spent hours planning. Eliza gazing at him from the porch with the younger children toddling at her feet. Young Angelica, smiling brilliantly at him as they played the piano together. And at the foot of his bed, a beautiful wooden chest – rarely opened – holding the last of Philips precious things.  
  
Gone and forgotten. There was clearly no place for them here in this alien world of stone and glass and steel. Alexander gasped and tears finally came as he tried desperately to hold onto the memory of home.  
  
“Excuse me, but are you alright?” A soft voice said, breaking him out of his reverie. Alexander looked up to see an elderly woman, concern etched into her face.  
  
“Thank you for the kind inquiry, but I am fine.” He said, trying in vain to seem unaffected.  
  
“Are you sure?” Her dark eyes roamed over him, and Alexander flushed, very aware of his out of place attire. “You look… lost.”  
  
“I am simply looking for something that I am afraid no longer exists.” He replied.  
  
She looked at him for a moment more before her face brightened. “Oh! You must mean the Grange!” Something must have shown on his face because she continued on. “Oh no sweetie, they just moved it. Must’ve been, oh what? Eight years ago now?”  
  
Alexander’s mind was racing. “Moved it?”  
  
“Oh yes! There was a big to do about it too. So much arguing about which way it should be facing, and if it was even worth the money to save it. Bet they’re glad they did it now, huh? After that musical, I run into people all the time looking in the wrong area for the Grange. Heard they saw as many people in the first three months of this year as they did in all of last year.” She laughed. “Would you like me to show you where it’s at?”  
  
Alexander nearly tripped rushing to his feet. “Oh God, yes please.”  
  
The lady laughed again. “No problem at all. It’s just a few more blocks from here but it does like to hide.” She started walking, a slow shuffle assisted by a jangling metal cart. “So you must be a real fan, huh? Have you seen the show yet?”  
  
Alexander looked over at her as they started down a hill. “Uh… no. Not yet.”  
  
It must have been the correct answer because the woman merely tutted. “Completely understandable. I know that the tickets are impossible to get a hold of.”  
  
They turned another corner together. “Still, if you do get a chance, you should see it. My nephew works as an usher at the theater and got me tickets.” Her brown eyes seemed to sparkle at a memory that only she could see. “It was incredible. It makes you feel like you have to do something with your life. Not just that you can, you understand, but that you have to.” She looked back at him with a small smirk. “After all, who lives, who dies, who tells your story?”  
  
Alexander looked at her. He had no idea what she was talking about but as long as she could lead him home, he could let her talk about whatever she wanted.  
  
“Anyways, the Grange is absolutely lovely my dear. Be sure to take a tour of the upstairs area. They still have Angelica’s piano – the daughter’s, not the sister mind you.”  
  
“They… they still have it?” Alexander asked, his voice suddenly shaky again.  
  
“Oh yes! It is the most touching thing! You can even see the groves from where she used to play it so many times.” She looked over at him, as if expecting a response, but Alexander merely nodded not trusting his voice to stay calm as she continued talking about his daughter.  
  
“I think that’s the thing that always gets me whenever I listen to the musical.” She said, her voice soft again. “I know that I’m not young anymore. I’m not going to change the world like Hamilton.” Alexander’s head whipped around to stare at her.  
  
“But you know, they ask what is a legacy? I may not have changed the world, but I raised four wonderful children, and I was an incredible teacher for 35 years. And I think that – like Eliza’s work – that matters. You know, it’s not as flashy or ‘important’ as creating a financial system, but I’d like to think that the Grange would be Hamilton’s favorite legacy as well.”  
  
Alexander went to respond – what he didn’t know – but before he could answer, they rounded the last corner together and he saw it.  
  
_The Grange. ___  
  
It may have been only days ( _centuries ___) since he had seen it last and it was suddenly tilted at a strange angle underneath a rocky outcropping ( _completely wrong for the light ___), but it was home and seeing it soothed some frightened, aching, longing thing in his chest that he had been steadfastly ignoring.  
  
“Ah! Here we are! I told you that we weren’t too far away!”  
  
It took all of his willpower but he managed to pull his eyes away from ( _home ___) the Grange and took the woman’s soft, dark, wrinkled hand in his. “I cannot thank you enough for your help.”  
  
“Oh nonsense! You just enjoy yourself.” She said, turning around and heading back up the hill.  
  
“And honey?” She called back to him, a smile stretching across her face. “If you have the chance to get tickets, do not throw away your shot!”  
  
But Alex had already turned away.  
  
He walked through the iron gate and stared up at the soft yellow building. Sunlight fell through the surrounding trees, dappling his home with warmth. Light glinted off the window and Alexander could see a flash of Eliza’s smile through the glass. Over the sounds of the city he could hear the laughter of his children and a soft piano melody calls him home.

**Author's Note:**

> So I tried to write this with as much historical accuracy as I could.  
>   
> The Grange did originally sit on the corner of 143rd and Convent until it was moved two times to it's current spot, which is still a part of Hamilton's original land plot. You can find some pictures as well as the map with the three different locations on it on the NPS site.  
>   
> Kingsbridge Road was a real road. It was the only main road that connected all of Manhattan and the Grange was located off of it.  
>   
> The Presidential Mansion in NYC was a real thing. The first building that Washington worked in was demolished in the late-1800's and the second building that Washington lived and worked in was demolished in 1940.  
>   
> The Hudson was referred to as the North River until the early 1900's.  
>   
> I also toyed with giving Hamilton some issues with accents, but I realized that 1) given his background, we have literally NO idea what his accent would sound like 2) British accents in the 1700's sound closer to modern "American" accents than modern "British" accents (seriously go check out Shakespearean Original Pronunciation) and 3) it's New York. No one is going to blink at a different accent.  
>   
> As for the little old lady, she is based on the wonderful people that I met in NYC while I was traveling with my friend. This lady literally got off the Subway with us when we realized that we were lost, took us to the correct station, and paid the charge for an extra ticket to make sure that we made it to the right stop. New Yorkers are awesome.  
>   
> I also left some little Easter Eggs for myself that I couldn't justify actually sticking in there, so there are references to the Freedom Tower and Time Square. I also tried to avoid directly mentioning the Hamilton musical by name, but come on, a guy shows up dressed in Revolutionary clothes in NYC. No one is going to be able to hold back on the Hamilton quotes.


End file.
